


The Sociopath and The Soldier

by unusuallyabigail



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: ;), Castiel is Sherlock, Dean is John, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Everyone else youll have to read and see, Sherlock AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 02:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unusuallyabigail/pseuds/unusuallyabigail
Summary: Basically an AU where Dean takes the role of John Watson and Castiel take the role of Sherlock Holmes





	The Sociopath and The Soldier

_ Gunshots. _

_ Shouting. _

_ Bombs. _

_ Death. _

Dean Winchester awoke with a start and a yell in his throat, sitting up straight as he automatically assessed his surroundings. Alone, in a room barely decorated. 

He flopped back onto the bed, breathing heavily and he stared blankly ahead. 

Just another flashback.

~   


He sat on his bed, staring at the wall, getting himself ready to face yet another day. Turning to where his cane was propped against the dresser, he sighed.

_ Just another day. _

He got up, grabbed his cane, and got himself coffee before sitting at the desk and pulling out his laptop, ignoring the handgun resting in the same draw the computer had been in. He stared blankly at the screen, open to a blog titled  _ D. Winchester _ , before abruptly closing it.

~   


“How’s your blog going?” His therapist asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, good. Very good.”   


“You haven’t written a word, have you?”   


Dean elected not to respond to that, instead changing the topic. “You’ve just written ‘still has trust issues’.”   


“And you read my writing upside down.” His therapist responded calmly. “You see what I mean?”

Dean smirked before looking away.

“Dean...you’re a soldier.” His therapist continued. “And it’s going to take you awhile to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.”   


“Nothing happens to me.” Dean muttered, more to himself than to the other.

~

_ What do you mean there’s no damn car?” _ _   
_

_ ”He went to New York, I’m sorry.” A well-dressed woman said into her phone. “Get a cab.” _ _   
_

_ “I never get cabs.” The man said over the phone, sounding irate.  _

_ The women checked for prying ears, before whispering into her phone, “I love you.” _ _   
_

_ “When?” The man responded. _

_ “Get a cab!” She repeated, laughing, and the two hung up. _

~

_ The man from the phone slowly placed a pill in his mouth, staring blankly ahead. No words were said. _

~   


_ ”My husband...was a happy man, who lived life to the full. He loved his family, and his work. And that he should have taken his own life in this way is a mystery and a shock to all who knew him.” The mans husband stated publicly. _

_ The woman from the phone call, standing off to the side, let a single tear roll down her cheek. _

~   


_ Two young men walked down the street in the pouring rain. _

_ “Yes...yes...taxi!” One of them yelled out, cursing when the taxi drove past. “Ugh...I’ll be back in two minutes, dude.” _ _   
_

_ “What?” The other asked. _

_ “I’m gonna run home and get my umbrella.” _ _   
_

_ “You can share mine!” The second insisted, but the first shook his head. _

_ “Two minutes, alright?” He ran off. _

~   


_ The young man, now out of the rain, in a seemingly empty room. He put a singular pill in his mouth. No words were said. _

~   


_ A woman approaches a man at the bar, an annoyed expression on her face. _

_ The man sighed. “She’s still dancing?” _ _   
_

_ “Yeah, if you can call it that.” The woman snarked. _

_ “Did you get her car keys off her?” _ _   
_

_ “Got them out of her bag.” The woman held off the keys to show him. _

_ The man smiled, before searching through the crowd and frowning. “Where is she?” _

~   


_ A second woman stood outside in the dark, rifling through her bag for her keys, which were nowhere to be found. She sighed. _

~   


_ The same woman, now crying. She placed a pill in her mouth. No words were said. _

~   


“The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night in a building sight.” A young blonde detective named Jo Harvelle read off a paper. “Preliminary investigations suggest this was a suicide. We can confirm this apparent suicide closely resembles that of Jeffery Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Singer will be taking your questions now.”

The attention of the press conference was redirected to a druff older man with a full beard.

Questions were immediately thrown, but one stood out. “Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?”   


“Well, they all took the same poison.” Bobby Singer answered. “Um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them had shown any prior intentions-”   


The reporter cut him off. “But you can’t have serial suicides!”   


“Well apparently you can.” Bobby gruffly remarked.

Another reporter spoke up. “These three people, there’s nothing that links them?”   


“There’s no link we found yet, but...we’re looking for it, there has to be one.”

Almost immediately, everyone in the rooms phone went off at the same time.

They all had the same text.

_ Wrong. _

Jo scoffed at her phone, before looking out over the crowd. “If you’ve all got texts, please ignore them.”   


The first reporter yelled out, “It just says ‘wrong’.”

“Yeah, well, just ignore that.” Jo repeated. “If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Singer, I’m going to bring this session to an end.”

Another question rang out. “If they’re suicides, what are you investigating?”

“As I said, these suicides are clearly linked.” Bobby said. “It’s an unusual situation, we’ve got our best people investigating.”

Again, everyone’s phone went off. Again, it read one word.

_ Wrong. _

“It says ‘wrong’ again.” The first reporter muttered. 

“One more question.” Jo called out.

“Is there any chance these are murders?” A reporter called out, causing a flurry of whispers. “And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?”

“I know you like writing about these, but these are clearly suicides. We know the difference. The poison was clearly self-administered.” Bobby sighed.

“Yes but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?” The reporter asked.

“Well, don’t commit suicide.” Bobby snarked. The reporter looked offended.

“Daily Mail.” Jo hissed, and Bobby sat up a little straighter. 

“Obviously this is a frightening time for people.” He amended. “But all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.”   


Again, everyone's phones went off with the singular text.

_ Wrong. _

Then Bobby's phone went off, and Bobby's alone.

_ You know where to find me. CN _

Bobby sighed, pocketing his phone and standing. “Thank you.”   


~

“You’ve got to stop him from doing that, he’s making us look like idiots.” Jo insisted as she and Bobby strode down a hallway.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “If you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.”

Jo glared.

~   


Dean Winchester walked down the street, leaning heavily on his cane. It was bright out, nice even.

“Dean? Dean Winchester!” A man called out. Dean very nearly kept walking. But he stopped, and turned towards the man. “Lafitte, Benny Lafitte. We were at college together.”   


“Yeah, sorry, yeah, Benny hello.” Dean stumbled over his words a bit, sticking his hand out to shake Bennys. 

Benny laughed. “Yeah, I know, I got fat.”   


“No, no…” Dean muttered unconvincingly.

Benny laughed again. “I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at, what happened?”   


“I got shot.” Dean deadpanned.

Benny blinked.

The two eventually went and grabbed coffee together, sitting on a somewhat clean bench in the park to drink. After awhile of awkward silence, Dean piped up.

“So, you still at our college then?”   


“Teaching now.” Benny responded. “Bright young things like we used to be. God, I hate them.” They both laughed. “What about you, just staying in town until you get yourself sorted?”

“I can’t afford this city on an Army pension.”   


“And you can’t bear to be anywhere else, that's not the Dean Winchester I know!”   


“I’m not the Dean Winchester you know.” Dean said quietly.

Things got quiet. Then, “Couldn’t Sam help?”   


“Yeah, like that's gonna happen.”   


“I don't know,” Benny said. “Get an apartment share or something?”   


Dean laughed. “Come on, who’d want me for a roommate?” Benny snickered, as if remembering a joke. “What?”   


“You're the second person to say that to me today.”

“Well who was the first?”   


~   


A man stood over a newly unzipped body bag, eyeing the corpse. He was tall, maybe 6’ even, with shockingly blue eyes and a mop of black hair. “How fresh?” He asked in a deep voice.

“Just in!” said Hannah, a shy woman who worked at the morgue. “67, natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him, he was nice.” She didn’t sound too upset.

“Fine.” said the man. He zipped up the body bag and turned to Hannah with a smile. “We’ll start with the riding crop.”   


~   


The man beat on the corpse mercilessly as Hannah watched through a window, a mix of arousal and fear on her face. 

She approached him as he finished up. “So...bad day was it?” She chuckled nervously. 

“I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes.” The man murmured, paying her no mind. “A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me.”   


“Listen, I was wondering, maybe later when you’re finished-”   


The man cut her off. “You're wearing lipstick, you weren't wearing lipstick before.”   


“I uh...I refreshed it a bit.”

The man nodded. “Sorry, you were saying?”   


“I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee?” Hannah asked, trepidation clear on her face.

The man did not notice. “Black, two sugars please. I’ll be upstairs.”   


“Okay…”   


~   


The man from the morgue was working on some kind of experiment when Benny lead Dean into the room, the latter struggling with his cane a bit.

The man eyed them carefully, not saying anything at first.

“Bit different from my day...” Dean muttered, looking around the lab in fascination.

“Oh, you’ve no idea.”   


“Benny, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.” The man interjected, not looking at his two guests, instead looking at his experiment. 

“And what’s wrong with the landline?” Benny asked, amused.   


“I prefer to text.”   


Benny shrugged. “Sorry, it’s in my coat.”   


“Uh, here.” Dean said, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Use mine.”   


The man looked at him, seeming to see right through him, before cautiously accepting the phone. “Oh, thank you.”   


“Old friend of mine, Dean Winchester.” Benny introduced.

The man didn’t say his name, instead opening the phone with flourish. “Afghanistan or Iraq?” He asked.

“What?”   


“Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?”   


Dean looked at Benny, who smirked. “Um, Afghanistan. How did you…?”   


They were interrupted by Hannah, who was bringing Sherlock his coffee.

“Ah, Hannah! Coffee! Thank you.” The man said happily, taking the drink from her. “What happened to the lipstick?”   


“It wasn’t working for me.”   


“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouths too small now.” The man took a drink from his coffee as if he hadn't just said something incredibly rude. 

“Okay…” Hannah muttered, leaving the lab.

“How do you feel about the violin?” The man asked Dean, who looked confused. Benny smirked again.

“Sorry, what?”   


“I play the violin when I’m thinking and sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.” The man stated. “Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”

“You told him about me?” Dean asked Benny.

“Not a word.” Benny replied with that infuriating smirk.

“Then who said anything about roommates?” Dean said to the man, one eyebrow raised.

“I did.” The man responded. “I told Benny this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a roommate for. Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t a difficult leap.”   


Dean stared at him. “How did you know about Afghanistan?”   


“I’ve got my eye on a nice little place, together we should be able to afford it.” The man continued as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, 7:00. Sorry, got to dash, I think I left my crop in the mortuary.” He made to leave the lab, but Dean stopped him.

“Is that it?” He asked.

“Is that what?”   


“We’ve only just met and we’re going to look at an apartment?”   


The man looked from Benny to Dean again. “Problem?”   


“We don’t know a thing about each other!” Dean insisted. “I don’t know where we’re meeting, I don’t even know your name.”

The man took a step closer. “I know you’re an Army doctor, I know you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan, I know you’ve got a sister who’s worried about you but you won't go to her fro help possibly because you don't approve of her, possibly because she’s an alcoholic, more likely because she recently walked out on her wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limb is psychosomatic, quite correctly I’m afraid, that's enough to be going on with, don't you think?” He said all in one breath. He walked out the door, before popping his head back in. “The name’s Castiel Novak and the address is 221B Baker Street.” He winked, and he was gone.

Dean turned to Benny.

“Yeah.” Benny said. “He’s always like that.”   


~   


When Dean got back to his room, he pulled out his phone, checking it for messages. None. He looked at the sent messages from his phone.

_ If brother has green ladder, arrest brother. CN _

He didn’t even want to know what that meant.

Sighing, he got up and went to his computer, searching  _ Sherlock Holmes _ .

~

_ A lady dressed in pink leant down to pick up a bottle from the ground. _

_ Straightening up, she placed a single pill in her mouth. _

~

The next evening, Dean found himself walking up to 221B Baker Street, cane in hand, only to be met by the eccentric Castiel he had met the day before.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Novak, hey.”   


“Castiel, please.”   


The two awkwardly shook hands.

“Well this is a good spot, must be expensive.” Dean commented.

“Oh, the landlord Chuck, he’s given me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, his wife got sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.”   


“You stopped her husband from being executed?” Dean asked incredulously.

“No, I ensured it.”   


Just then, the door opened, and a small man with a beard walked out. “Castiel!”   


“Chuck.” Castiel was pulled into a surprisingly warm hug, and when he was released he gestured to Dean. “Dr. Dean Winchester.”

“Hello, come in!” Chuck greeted.

“Hello, thank you.” Dean managed to get his way in without relinquishing hold of his cane.

“Shall we?” Castiel called.   


“Yes.”   


The two walked up the stairs, Dean struggling a bit, and Castiel ceremoniously opened the door.

The two men stared at the apartment, already covered in stuff.

“Well, this could be very nice.” Dean said. “Very nice.”

“Yes, I thought so.” Castiel replied. “My very thoughts precisely.”   


“As long as we get all this rubbish cleaned out.”   


“So I went straight ahead and moved in.”   


The two men spoke simultaneously, and Dean blinked at Castiel. “...oh. So this is all...”   


Castiel blinked back, before moving to start straightening things out. “Well, obviously, I can, um, straighten things up a bit.” He muttered, throwing things around haphazardly. 

“That’s a skull.” Dean declared, using his cane to point to the skull sitting on the mantle.

“Friend of mine.” Castiel smiled. “When I say friend…” He didn’t finish his sentence. 

“What do you think then, Dr. Winchester?” Chuck asked kindly. “There’s a second bedroom upstairs, if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.”   


“Of course we’ll be needing two.” Dean frowned.

“Don’t worry, there’s all sorts around here! Ellen next door has got married ones!” Chuck laughed. He walked into the kitchen and abruptly stopped. “Oh Cas, the mess you’ve made…”

Dean cleared off a chair and sat, grunting in discomfort. He looked up at where Castiel was still trying to clean. “I looked you up on the internet last night.” 

“Anything interesting?”   


“Found your website.” Dean continued. “The Science of Deduction.” 

“What did you think?” Castiel asked, perhaps a tad eagerly.

Dean scoffed, and Castiel frowned. 

“You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airplane pilot by his left thumb?” Dean asked skeptically. 

“Yes.” Castiel said stiffly. “And I can read your military career on your face and your leg and your sisters drinking habits on your mobile phone.”

“How?”   


Castiel merely smiled and turned to the window.

Chuck took that moment to reenter the room. “What about these suicides then, Castiel? I though that’d be right up your street. Three, exactly the same.”   


Castiel watched a vehicle approach the apartment. “Four.” He murmured. “There’s been a fourth. And there’s something different this time.” 

“A fourth?”    


Castiel turned to the stairs, where Bobby Singer was running up them.

“What's new about this one? You wouldn't have gotten me if there wasn't something different.” Castiel asked.

“You know how they never leave notes?” Bobby asked. “This one did. Come on.”   


“Whos on forensics?”   


“Garth.”   


“Garth wont work with me.”   


“Well, he won't be your assistant!”   


“I need an assistant.” Castiel insisted.

Bobby sighed. “Will you come?”   


“Not in a police car, I’ll be right behind.” Castiel went back to staring out the window, and Bobby thanked him before leaving.

Castiel waited a moment, before smiling wide and jumping into the air. “Brilliant! Yes! Oh, four serial suicides and then a note, oh, it's Christmas! Chuck, I'll be out late, might need some food.”

“I’m your landlord, not your housekeeper.”   


“Something cold will do. Dean, have a cup of coffee, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!” And with that, Castiel was out the door.

“Look at him, dashing about.” Chuck sighed. “My wife was just the same, But, you’re more the sitting down tye, I can tell.” Dean smiled awkwardly in response. “I’ll make you that coffee, you rest your leg.”   


“DAMN MY LEG!” Dean shouted, then said, “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” as Chuck jumped. “It’s just sometimes, this damn thing…” He trailed off.

“I understand, I’ve got a hip.” Chuck sympathized.

“Uh, cup of coffee would be great, thanks.” Dean said.

“Just this once, I’m not your housekeeper.”   


“Couple of cookies too, if you’ve got ‘em.” Dean requested with a smile, opening a newspaper.

“Not your housekeeper!”   


The door creaked open, and Castiel stuck his head back in, zeroing in on Dean. “You’re a doctor. In fact, you’re an Army doctor.”   


“Yes.” Dean cleared his throat and stood.

“Any good?”   


“Very good.”   


“Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths.” Castiel moved closer.

Dean didn't back down. “Well, yes.”   


“Bit of trouble too, I bet?”   


“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime, far too much.”   


Castiel smirked. “Want to see some more?”   


“Oh God yes.” The two made their way out the door and down the stairs, with Dean calling over his shoulder, “Sorry Chuck, I’ll skip the coffee. Off out.”

“Both of you?”    


Castiel turned to the older man, excitement in his eyes. “Impossible suicides? Four of them? There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!” He grasped Chucks shoulders firmly and kissed his cheek.

“Look at you, all happy, it’s not decent.” Chuck chuckled.

“Who cares about decent? The game, Chuck, is on!”   


~   


Dean and Castiel sat in the cab in a comfortable silence. They continuously stole glances at each other, until Castiel finally sighed.

“Okay, you’ve got questions.”   


“Yeah. Where are we going?”   


“Crime scene. Next?”   


“Who are you, what do you do?”   


“What do you think?” Castiel asked dryly.

“I’d say private detective, but the police don’t go to private detectives.”   


Castiel smirked. “I’m a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job.”   


“What does that mean?”   


“It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”   


“The police don’t consult amateurs.” Dean laughed. Castiel smirked at him before looking back out of the window.

“When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised.”   


“Yeah, how did you know that?” Dean asked, shifting to get a better look at Castiel.

“I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut and the way you hold yourself says military. And your conversation as you entered the room said trained at the college, so Army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrist, You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, as if you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic, wounded in action then. Wounded in action, sun tan, Afghanistan or Iraq.”

Dean blinked. “You said I had a therapist.”   


“You have a psychosomatic limp, of course you’ve got a therapist. Then there’s your sister.” Castiel continued. “Your phone, it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player, and you're looking for a shared apartment, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches; not one, many over time, its been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so its had a previous owner. The next bit is easy, you know it already.”

“The engraving?” Dean guessed.

“Sam Winchester, clearly a family member who’s given you her old phone, not your mother, this is a young woman's gadget, could be a cousin but youre a war hero with no place to live, unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to. So, sister it is. Now Jess, who’s Jess? Three kisses says its a romantic attachment, the expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must have given it to her recently. This models only six months old. Marriage in trouble then, six months and she’s giving it away, if she’d left her, she would’ve kept it. People do. Sentiment. No, she wanted rid of it, Sam left Jess. She gave the phone to you, that says she wants to keep in touch. You’re looking for cheap accomodation and you’re not going to your sister for help? That says you've got problems with her. Maybe you liked her wife, maybe you don't like her drinking.”   


Dean gaped at him. “How could you possibly know about the drinking?”   


“Shot in the dark, good one though.” Castiel smirked. “Power connection, tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night she goes to plug it in to charge but her  hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober womans phone, never see a drunks without them. There you go, see, you were right.”   


“I was right?” Dean was confused now. “Right about what?”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”   


A beat of silence. “That…” Dean remarked. “Was amazing.”   


Castiel looked at him. “You think so?”   


“Of course it was. It was extraordinary, it was quite...extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say.”   


“What do people normally say?”   


“‘Piss off’.”

Dean laughed, looking back out the window.

~   


The two eventually arrived at the crime scene, and as they exited the cab, Castiel asked, “Did I get anything wrong?”

Dean shook his head. “Sammy and me don’t get along, never have. Jess and Sammy split p three months ago. Sammy is a drinker.”   


“Spot on then, I didn't expect to be right about everything.”

Dean smirked. “Sam is short for Samuel.”   


Castiel stopped in the middle of the road. “Sams your brother.”   


“Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?” Dean asked.

“Brother!”   


“No seriously, what am I doing here?”   


“There’s always something…” Castiel muttered to himself as the duo approached the police tape. 

“Hello freak!” Jo, the blonde detective called out.

Castiel ignored her. “I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.”   


“Why?” She asked.

“I was invited.”   


“Why?” She asked again.

“Well I think he wants me to take a look.”   


“You know what I think?”   


“Always, Jo.” He ducked under the police tape, before sniffing the air and eyeing her. “I even know you didn't make it home last night.”

Dean made to duck under the tape, but was promptly stopped by Jo. “Who’s this?”   


“Colleague of mine.” Castiel answered. “Dr. Winchester. Dr. Winchester, Sergeant Jo Harvelle. Old friend.” The way he spat out ‘friend’ made it clear what he really thought of the woman.

“Colleague?” Jo sneered. “How do you get a colleague?” She turned to Dean. “Did he follow you home?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Would it be better if I just waited-”   


“No.” Castiel cut off, lifting the police tape for him. Dean ducked under it.

“Freaks here, bringing him in.” Jo said into her walkie-talkie, leading them into the building. Before they entered, a man with a thin face walked out, staring Castiel down.

“Ah, Garth.” Castiel greeted blandly. “Here we are again.”

“It's a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated, are we clear on that?” Garth stated.

“Quite clear.” Castiel muttered. “And is your wife away for long?””   


“Don’t pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that.” Garth said, rather snidely.

Castiel smiled. “Your deodorant told me that.”   


“My deodorant?”   


“It’s for men.”   


Garth's eyes turned to slits. “Of course its for men, I’m wearing it!”   


“So’s Sergeant Harvelle.”    


Silence. 

“Oh, I think it just vaporized.” Castiel commented. “May I go in?”

“Whatever you're trying to imply…” Garth hissed.

“I’m not implying anything, I’m sure Jo came around for a nice chat, and just happened to stay over.” Castiel said as he made his way into the building, Dean close behind him. “And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.”

Inside the building, John was stopped and handed a hazmat suit. “You’ll need one of these.” 

“Who’s this?” Detective Inspector Singer asked, eyeing Dean carefully.

“He’s with me.” Castiel said, putting on a pair of gloves.   


“But who is he?”   


“I said he’s with me.” Castiel repeated, danger in his tone.

Bobby accepted this as an answer.

“Aren’t you going to put one on?” Dean asked Castiel ,referring to the hazmat suits. He was ignored.

“So where are we?” Castiel asked Bobby.

“Upstairs.”   


Castiel nodded, and the three started to make their way up the stairs. 

“I can give you two minutes.” Bobby said gruffly.

“May need longer.”   


Bobby ignored him. “Her names Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long, some kids found her.” They all stopped in front of the corpse of a woman in all pink, laying face-down on the carpet.

A beat of silence as they all stared down at her.

“Shut up.” Castiel said abruptly, turning to Bobby.

“I didn't say anything.”   


“You were thinking, it's annoying.”

Dean and Bobby exchanged looks.

Castiel carefully approached the body, kneeling beside it and eyeing all the subtle details. She had scratched the word ‘Rache’ into the floor, with her left hand. Probably short for Rachel. Her coat was wet, but her umbrella was dry, meaning she hadn’t used it against the rain. Her jewelry was all clean and well-kept, except for her ring. Unhappily married. The ring was clean on the inside, as though it was often removed. Serial adulterer then. He smirked.

“Got anything?” Bobby asked.

“Not much.” Castiel said casually.

“She’s German.” Garth commented from the doorway. “‘Rache’, it's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something-”   


“Yes, thank you for your input.” Castiel said, shutting the door in his face.

Bobby frowned. “So, she’s German?”   


“Of course she’s not.” Castiel scoffed, looking at something on his phone. “She’s from out of town, though. Intended to stay in town for one night before returning home to New York. So far so obvious.”   


“I’m sorry, obvious?” Dean snarked.

“What about the message?” Bobby cut in.

“Dr. Winchester, what do you think?”   


All eyes went to Dean.

“Of the message?” He asked.

“Of the body, you're a medical man.” Castiel said.

“We have a whole team, outside.” Bobby insisted.

”They won't work with me.”

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here…”   


“Yes, because you need me.”

Dean suddenly wished he was anywhere but here.

“Yes, I do.” Bobby admitted. “God help me.”   


“Dr. Winchester.” Castiel demanded.

Dean looked at Bobby. “Oh help yourself, do as he says.” The older man said, leaving the room and telling Garth to keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.

Dean leant beside the body, stretching out his bad leg as he did so. 

“Well?” Castiel prodded.”   


“What am I doing here?”   


“Helping me make a point.”   


“I’m supposed to be helping you pay rent.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well, this is more fun.”

“Fun? There's a woman lying dead.”   


“Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.” Castiel said. 

Bobby entered the room as Dean leant down to look closely at the body.

“Yeah, asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her, it could have been a seizure, possibly drugs.”   


“You know what it was, you read the papers.” Castiel cut in.

“She’s one of the suicides, the fourth?” Dean looked to Bobby for confirmation, who was looking at Cas.

“Two minutes, I said, I need everything you got.” Bobby said gruffly.

Castiel took a deep breath and began speaking. “Victim is in her late 30s, professional person, going by her clothes. I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from New York today, intending to stay here for just one night, it's obvious from the size of her suitcase.”   


“Suitcase?” Bobby asked, brow furrowed.    


“Yes, suitcase. She's been married for at least 10 years, but not happily, she's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.”   


“Oh for gods sake, if youre just making this up…” Bobby threatened.

“Her wedding ring, ten years old at least, the rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not the ring. State of her marriage, right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside, that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesnt work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her ring for? Clearly not one lover, she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.”

“Brilliant.” Dean said, shocked. “Sorry.” He added. When Castiel looked at him.

“New York?” Bobby pressed.

“It’s obvious, isn't it?” Castiel asked.

“It's not obvious to me.” Dean muttered.

“Dear god, what is it like in your funny little brains, it must be so boring.”  Castiel said more to himself than to anyone else. “Her coat, its slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours, no rain anywhere here in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too, she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left hand pocket but its dry and unused, not just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from hr suitcase she was intending to stay overnight so she must've come a decent distance but she can't have travelled over two or three hours because her coat is still damp. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? New York.”

“Fantastic.” Dean said.   


“Do you know you do that out loud?” Castiel asked.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up.”   


“No, it’s...fine.” Castiel looked at him curiously, as though Dean were an enigma he couldn't quite figure out.

Bobby cut in. “Why do you keep saying suitcase?”   


“Yes, where is it?” Sherlock turned to him. “She must've had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is.”   


“She was writing Rachel?”   


“No, she was leaving an angry note in German.” Castiel said sarcastically. “Of course she was writing Rachel, no other word it can be. Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?”

“How do you know she had a suitcase?” Bobby asked.

“Back of her right leg. Tiny splash marks on the heel and calf not present on the left. She was dragging a  wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious, could only be an overnight bag so we know she was staying only one night. Where is it, what have you done with it?”

“There wasn't a case.” Bobby shrugged.

Castiel slowly turned to look at him. “Say that again.”   


“There wasn't a case, there was never any suitcase.”

Castiel pushed past him into the hallways, yelling. “Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?”

“Castiel, there’s no case.” Bobby yelled after him.

“But they take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills themselves, there are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them.” Castiel ranted.

“Right, yeah, thanks. And?” Bobby sassed.

“It's murder. All of them. I don't know how. But they're not suicides, they're killings, serial killings.” Castiel clapped. “We've got ourselves a serial killer, love those, there's always something to look forward to!” He dashed down the stairs.

“Why are you saying that?” Bobby called down after him.   


“Her case!” Castiel shouted. “Come on, where is her case. Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case.” he spoke quieter, to himself. “So the killer must have driven here, forgotten the case in the car.”   


“She would have checked into a hotel, left the case there.” Dean reasoned, but Castiel waved him off.

“No, she never got to the hotel, look at her hair. She color coordinates her lipstick and her shoes, she’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking…” He trailed off. 

“Oh…OH!”   


“Cas?” Dean asked, confused.

“What is it, what?” Bobby added.

“Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.”   


“We can't just wait!”   


“We’re done waiting, look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake, get on to New York! Find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were, find Rachel!” 

“Of course, yeah, but what mistake?” Bobby shouted.

“PINK!” And with that, Castiel was gone, leaving Dean behind.

~   


“He’s gone.” Jo informed Dean as he walked outside.

“Who?” Dean asked. “Castiel?”   


“Yeah, he just took off, he does that.” She said. 

“Is he coming back?”   


“Didn't look like it.”   


“Right…” Dean sighed. “Right.” He turned back to Jo. “Do you know where I can get a cab? It's just uh...well...my leg.”

Jo winced sympathetically. “Try the main road.” She said, lifting the police tape for him. 

“Thanks.” He ducked under it.

“You're not his friend.” Jo said curiously. “He doesn't have friends. So who are you?”

“I’m, I’m nobody. I just met him.” Dean answered truthfully. 

“Word of advice, stay away from that guy.” Jo said.   


“Why?”   


She smiled at him, a rude little smile. “You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. Gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what?” She leaned closer. “One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we’ll be standing round a body and Castiel Novak will be the one who put it there.”

“Why would he do that?” Dean asked rather defensively.   


“Because he’s a psychopath.” Jo answered. “Psychopaths get bored.”   


“Harvelle!” Bobby called from the building.

“Coming!” She yelled back. She smiled once more at John. “Stay away from Castiel Novak.” She warned, walking off.

Dean shook his head, walking towards the main road.

Like hell he’d stay away, this is the most fun he’d had since the military.

~   


Things were getting weird as Dean walked back to the main road. 

Every telephone booth he past had started ringing, yet was completely empty.

So, against his better judgement, he picked one up.

“Hello?”   


A voice he didnt recognize spoke to him. “There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?”

Dean frowned. “Who’s this?” Then, when no one answered, “Who’s speaking?”

“Do you see the camera, Dr. Winchester?”   


Dean looked up. He saw the camera. “Yeah, I see it.”   


“Watch.”   


As Dean watched, the camera slowly swivelled away from him.

“There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?” The voice said through the phone.

Dean mumbled an affirmative, and the camera swivelled away from him.

“And finally, at the top of the building to your right.”   


Dean turned and looked, and the camera swivelled away from him as well. “How are you doing this?” Dean asked into the phone.

“Get in the car, Dr. Winchester. I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.”   


Sure enough, a car pulled up outside the phone booth. The line disconnected, and Dean slowly got into the car.

Inside the car was a pretty young woman on her phone.

“Hello.” Dean said.   


“Hi.” She smiled, looking back at her phone.

Dean stared at her for a moment. “What’s your name, then?”

“Uh...Anthea.” The woman lied.

“Is that your real name?”   


She smiled at him again. “No.”   


He hesitated a moment. “I’m Dean.”   


“Yes, I know.”   


“Any point in asking where I’m going?” He asked, feeling as though he already knew the answer. “None at all.”   


He sighed. “Okay.”

The car pulled into what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse, with a short blonde man standing there with an umbrella.

Dean got out of the car, limping towards the man.

“Have a seat, Dean.” The man said with a smile, gesturing with his umbrella towards a singular chair sitting rather ominously.

“You know, I’ve got a phone.” Dean said bitterly. “I mean, very clever and all that, but you could just call me. On my phone.”

“When one is avoiding the attention of Castiel Novak, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.” The short man said, gesturing to the warehouse around him. “Your leg must be hurting you; sit down.” Somehow, it seemed like a threat.

“I don't want to sit down.” Dean said, not breaking eye contact with the man.

“You don't seem very afraid.”   


“You don't seem very frightening.” Dean sassed.

“Yes.” The man laughed. “The bravery of a soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?” He suddenly turned serious, making Dean wonder if the man was bipolar or something. “What is your connection to Castiel Novak?”

“I don't have one, I barely know him. I met him...yesterday.” Dean said.

The man hummed. “And since yesterday you’ve moved in with him and now you’re solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?”   


“Who are you?”   


“An interested party.” The man replied.

“Interested in Castiel? Why?” Dean asked defensively. “I’m guessing you're not friends.”

“You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has?”

Wow, Dean did  _ not _ like this short guy. Not at all.

“I am the closest thing to a friend that Castiel Novak is capable of having.” The man continued.

“And what's that?” Dean raised an eyebrow.   


“An enemy.”   


“An enemy?” He repeated.   


“In his mind, certainly.” The short man said nonchalantly. “If you were to ask him, he’d probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic.”   


Dean rolled his eyes. “Well thank god you're above all that.” Just then, his phone went off.

_ Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. CN.  _ The text read.

“I hope I’m not distracting you.” The short man said.

“You're not distracting me at all.” Dean replied, pocketing his phone without replying.

“Do you plan to continue your association with Castiel Novak?”

“I could be wrong, but I think thats none of your business.” Dean snarked.

“It could be.” The man said dangerously.

Dean wasn't scared. “It really couldn't.”

“If you do move into, um…” The short man checked his notebook. “221B Baker Street, I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.”

“Why?” Dean demanded.

“Because you're not a wealthy man.”   


“In exchange for what?”   


“Information.” The man said. “Nothing indiscreet, nothing you’d be uncomfortable with, just tell me what he’s up to.”   


“Why?” Dean demanded again.

“I worry about him.” The short man deadpanned. “Constantly.”

“That's nice of you.” Dean muttered. 

“But I prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you may call a...difficult relationship.” 

Deans phone went off again, and he checked it.

_ If inconvenient, come anyway. CN _

“No.” Dean said.

“But I haven't mentioned a figure.” The short man raised an eyebrow.

“Don't bother.”   


The man laughed. “You're very loyal very quickly.”

“No, I’m not, I’m just not interested.” Dean glared. 

The man scowled, pulling out his notebook once more. “Trust issues, it says here.” He said. 

Dean looked at the notebook, and frowned. That was his therapists. “What's that?”   


“Could it be that you've decided to trust Castiel Novak of all people?”

“Who says I trust him?” Dean asked.

“You don't seem the kind to make friends easily.” The man didn't look up from the notebook. 

“Are we done?” Dean asked, clearly annoyed.

The man looked up. “You tell me.” John smiled at him, then turned and started walking away. “I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen.” The man continued.

Dean turned back to him. “My what?”   


“Show me.”   


Dean held up his left hand, and the short man walked closer, trying to take it in his own.

Dean pulled away. “Don’t.”   


The man raised an eyebrow, and Dean grumpily offered his hand back up, and the man took it. “Remarkable.”   


“What is?”   


“Most people blunder round this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Castiel Novak, you see the battlefield. You’ve seen it already, haven't you?” The man smirked.

“What's wrong with my hand?” Dean demanded. 

“You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder.” The man said. “She thinks you're haunted by the memories of your military service.”   


“Who the hell are you?” Dean cut him off. “How do you know that?”   


“Fire her.” The man said instead of answering. “She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Winchester...you miss it.” He leaned closer, and whispered, “Welcome back.”

Deans phone went off again. He didn't check it.

“Time to choose a side, Dr. Winchester.”The man said, strolling away. Dean stared after him, until he heard footsteps come up behind him.

“I’m to take you home.” Anthea from the car said, still looking at her phone.

Dean pulled out his phone instead of answering.

_ It could be dangerous. CN _

Dean put his phone away, checking his hand.

No tremor.

“Address?” Anthea asked.

“Uh, Baker Street. 221B Baker Street.” He turned and walked towards the car. “But I need to stop off somewhere first.”   


~   


Dean had the car go to his old room, and he went up to grab his laptop and his gun, his only two real possessions at that point. He also bagged his clothes, taking those as well back to Baker Street.

~

“Listen, your boss, is there any chance you could not tell him this is where i went?” Dean asked as they pulled up at 221B Baker Street.

“Sure.”   


“You've told him already, haven't you?”   


Anthea smiled. “Yeah.”

Dean made to get out, then paused, making up his mind quickly. “Hey, um, do you ever get any free time?”   


“Oh yeah, lots.” She looked up from her phone. “Bye.”   


“Okay then.”   


The car dropped him off, and Dean went inside and up the stairs, only to find Castiel on the couch with three nicotine patches on his arm.

“What are you doing?”   


“Nicotine patch.” Castiel answered. “Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit these days. Bad news for brain work.”   


“Good news for breathing.” Dean snarked.

Castiel groaned. “Breathing, breathing’s boring.”   


“Is that three patches?”   


“It's a three patch problem.”   


“Well?” Dean asked. When Castiel didn't answer, he pressed. “You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important.”   


Castiel's eyes popped open. “Oh, yes, of course, can I borrow your phone?”   


“My phone?”   


“Don't want to use mine. Always a chance that my number will be recognized, its on the website.”   


“Chuck has got a phone…”   


“Yes, he's downstairs, I tried shouting but he didnt hear.”

“I was on the other side of town!” Dean protested.

“There was no hurry.” Castiel insisted, and Dean sighed, handing over his phone.

“Here.” Castiel took it, and Dean sighed again, making his way across the room to his chair. “So what's this about, the case?”   


“Her case…” Castiel murmured. 

“Her case?”   


“Her suitcase, yes, obviously.” Castiel said. “The murderer took her suitcase, first big mistake.”   


“Ok, he took her case. So?” Dean asked, refraining from rolling his eyes just barely.

“It's no use, there's no other way, we’ll have to risk it.” Castiel said to himself. Dean frowned. Castiel continued. “On my desk, there's a number. I want you to send a text.”  He extended his arm with the phone, and Dean held back a scream.

“You brought me here to send a text.”   


“Text, yes, the number on my desk.”   


Dean took the phone, and went over to check the window for any evidence of the short man from the warehouse.   


“What's wrong?” Castiel asked, not moving from the couch.

“Just met a friend of yours.” Dean said.

“A friend?” Castiel sounded genuinely surprised.

“An enemy.” Dean amended.

“Oh. Which one?”   


“Well your arch enemy, according to him.” Dean cleared his throat. “Do people have arch enemies?”

Castiel looked over at him. “Did he offer you money to spy on me?” He asked quietly.

“Yes.”   


“Did you take it?”   


“No.” Dean said truthfully.

“Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time.”

Dean grimaced. “Who is he?”   


“The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now, on my desk, the number.” Castiel demanded.

Dean walked over to the desk, typing in the number. “Jennifer Wilson, that was...hang on, wasnt that the dead woman?”   


“Yes, that's not important, just enter the number. Are you doing it?”   


“Yes.” Dean repliec dutifully.

“Have you done it?”   


“Yeah, hang on!”

“These words exactly.” Castiel said. “‘What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come’.”   


“You blacked out?” Dean asked, looking up from the phone.

“What? No..no!” Castiel stood, walking over to Dean. “Type and send it. Quickly.” He walked past Dean, picking up a pink suitcase and setting it on the desk. “Have you sent it?”   


“What's the address?”   


“22 Northumberland Street, hurry up!” He opened the case. 

Dean sent it and looked over, eyes widening. “Thats...thats the pink lady’s case, thats Jennifer Wilsons case.”

“Yes, obviously.” Dean stared, and Castiel deadpanned. “Oh, and perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her.”

“I never said you did.”   


“Why not? Given that text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case it's a perfectly logical assumption.”

“Do people usually assume you're the murderer?” Dean questioned.

Castiel smiled. “Now and then, yes.” He jumped up from where he was sitting.

“Ok…” Dean muttered. “How did you get this?”He asked, referring to the case.

“By looking.”   


“Where?”    


“The killer must've driven her to Lauriston Gardens, he could only keep her case by accident if she was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, particularly a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it. The moment he noticed he still had it, wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake, I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car within five minutes of Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip.”   


“Pink…” Dean shook his head. “You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?”

“Well it had to be pink, obviously.”   


“Why didn't I think of that…”   


“Because you're an idiot.” Castiel said, taking in Deans look of offense. “No no no, dont look like that, practically everyone is. Now look ,do you see what's missing?”   


“From the case? How could I?” Dean asked, somewhat rhetorically.

“Her phone, where’s her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, no phone in the case. We know she had one, that's her number there, you just texted it.”   


“Maybe she left it at home.” Dean reasoned.

“She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it, she never leaves her phone at home.”

Dean paused, looking at his own phone. “Why did I just send that text?”

“Well the question is, where is her phone now?” Castiel corrected.

“She could have lost it.”   


“Yes, or…?”   


“The murderer...you think the murderer has the phone?”   


“Maybe she left it when she left her case.” Castiel said. “Maybe the murderer took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone.”

“Sorry,  _ what _ are we doing? Did I just text a murderer? What good will that do?” Dean fired off questions.

The phone rang.

“A few hours since his last victim, and now he receives a text that could only be from her.” Castiel said quietly. “If somebody had found that phone they would have just ignored a text like that, but the murderer...would panic.” He slammed the case shut abruptly, standing, leaving Dean staring at his phone.

“Have you talked to the police?”

“Four people are dead, there isn't time to talk to the police.” Castiel said.

“So why are you talking to me?” Dean pushed.

“Chuck took my skull.” Castiel said mournfully.

“So I’m basically filling in for your skull?”   


“Relax, you're doing fine.” Castiel replied, not picking up on the annoyance in Deans voice. “Well?”   


“Well what?”   


“Well, you could sit there and watch TV.” Castiel said.

“What, you want me to come with you?” Dean asked, surprised.

“I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so…”   


Dean smirked.

Castiel grabbed his tan trenchcoat, shrugging it on. “Problem?”   


“Yeah, Sergeant Harvelle.”   


“What about her?”   


“She said you get off on this. You enjoy it.”   


"And I said ‘dangerous’...” Castiel said slowly. “And here you are.” He walked out the door. 

Dean stared after him. “Damn it.” He cursed, grabbing his cane and standing, following the eccentric detective out the door.

~   


The two walked down the street in silence. That is, until Dean broke it. “Where are we going?”   


“Northumberland Street’s a five minute walk from here.” Castiel answered.

“You think he’s stupid enough to go there?”   


“No, I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones, they're all so desperate to get caught.” Castiel smiled broadly. 

“Why?”   


“Appreciation! Applause! At long last, the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, Dean, it needs an audience.” Castiel informed him.

“Yeah…”   


“This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything.” Dean didn't even ask why before Castiel continued. “Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think!” He abruptly shouted. “Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?”   


So dramatic. “Don't know, who?” Dean asked.

Castiel paused. “Haven't the faintest. Hungry?” And with that he turned, walking into a small italian bistro.

A young man gestured towards a table, which Dean and Castiel took. “Thank you, Billy.” Castiel said. “22 Northumberland Street, keep your eyes on it.” He said to Dean, who didn't even bother looking.

“He's not just going to ring the doorbell, he’d have to be insane.”

“He has killed four people…” Castiel muttered, staring out of the large decorative window.

“Okay…”   


“Castiel!” A short man with scruff and a thick accent came up to the table, smirking. “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and your date.” He gestured to Dean.

“Do you want to eat?” Castiel asked Dean, who was frowning at the man.

“I’m not his date.”   


“This man got me off a murder charge.” The man bragged. 

“This is Crowley.” Castiel explained, bored. “Three years ago I proved to Singer that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Crowley was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.”   


“He cleared my name!” Crowled purred.

“I cleared it a bit.” Castiel amended. “Anything happening opposite?”

“Nothing.” Crowley said, then turned back to Dean. “But for this man, I’d have gone to prison.”

“You did go to prison.” Castiel deadpanned.   


“I’ll get a candle for the table, it's more romantic.” Crowley winked at Dean and sauntered off.

“I’m not his date!” Dean called after him with a sigh.

“You may as well eat, we may have a long wait.” Castiel handed Dean a menu.

Dean looked through the menu, muttering a thanks when Crowley placed a candle on the table. Castiel continued staring out of the window.

“People don't have arch enemies.” Dean said eventually.

Castiel looked at him. “Sorry?”   


“In real life. There are no arch enemies in real life, doesn't happen.”

“Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull.”

“So who did I meet?” Dean pushed for an answer that he guessed Castiel wouldn't give.

He was right. “What do real people have then, in their real lives?” Castiel asked.

“Friends. People they know, people they like, people they don't like.” He paused. “Girlfriends, boyfriends.”   


“Yes well, as I said, dull.”

“You don't have a girlfriend then?” Dean asked.

“Girlfriend? No, not really my area.”   


Dean hummed. “Oh right...do you have a boyfriend thewn? Which is fine, but the way.”   


“I know it's fine.” Castiel said, finally focusing his attention on Dean instead of the window. 

Dean smiled. “So you've got a boyfriend then?”

“No.”   


“Right. Ok.” Dean laughed, perhaps a bit awkwardly. “You’re unattached. Just like me. Fine. Good.”

Castiel looked back out the window, before facing Dean again. “Dean, um...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered, I'm not really looking for any-”

“No, I’m not asking...no.” Dean muttered, face heating up as his heart sank a little. “I’m just saying, it's all fine.”

Castiel nodded, stilted. “Good. Thank you.” He went back to staring out the window. “Look across the street. Taxi. Its stopped.” Dean turned to look, and Castiel continued. 

“Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out. Why a taxi?” He breathed. “Oh that's clever, is it clever, why is it clever?”   


“That's him.” Dean said in wonder.

“Don't stare.”   


“You're staring!”   


“We can't both stare.” Castiel suddenly stood and exited the restaurant, Dean on his heels, both of them not noticing that they left Deans cane alone in the booth.

~

Castiel stared down the man in the taxi, watching as it pulled away from the curb. Castiel rushed to reach it, almost getting hit by a car, Dean following.

“I’ve got the cab number.” Dean declared.

“Good for you.” Castiel shut his eyes, envisioning a map in his head. “Right turn, one way, road works, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights.” His eyes popped open, and he rushed off, Dean sighing deeply before following him. Together they ran up a stairwell, down another, and across the tops of buildings. 

“Come on Dean, we’re losing him!”

They ran through an alleyway, just barely missing the taxi as it drove by. “This way!” Castiel called frantically, and they continued running, through another alley and down the street until finally they ran directly in front of the cab they were chasing, successfully stopping it.

Castiel wrenched the door open, pulling a badge out of his pocket. “Police! Open up!” He looked at the man inside. “No...teeth, tan, what, Californian? LA, Santa Monica, just arrived.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Dean panted.   


“The luggage. Ah, probably your first trip here, right? Going by your final destination and the route your cab driver was taking you?”   


The man inside nodded. “Sorry, are you guys the police?”   


“Yeah.” Castiel flashed the badge again. “Everything alright?”   


“Yeah.”

“Welcome.” Castiel walked off.

“Any problems, just let us know.” Dean said, slamming the door of the taxi shut and following Castiel. “Basically, just a cab that happened to slow down.”

“Basically.” Castiel murmured.

“Not the murderer.”   


“Not the murderer, no.”

“Wrong country, good alibi.” Dean laughed.   


“As they go.”   


“Hey, where did you get this?” Dean asked, grabbing the badge. “Detective Inspector Singer?”   


“Yeah, I pickpocket him when he’s annoying.” Castiel said matter of factly. “You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the apartment.”   


Dean sighed, before cracking up.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“Nothing, just…’welcome’.” He continued laughing, and Castiel cracked a smile before looking to where the cab they stopped was now talking to a real police officer.

“Got your breath back?”   


Dean followed his line of sight. “Ready when you are.”   


The two ran off.

~   


They made it back to 221B Baker Street, where Dean muttered “That was ridiculous” as they walked through the door. “That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done.”

“And you invaded Afghanistan.”   


The two broke into near-hysterical laughter.

“That wasn't just me.” Dean protested. “Why aren't we back at the restaurant?”

“They can keep and eye out.” Castiel dismissed. “It was a long shot anyway.”   


The two men stood there for another moment, catching their breath.

“So what were we doing there?” Dean asked, and Castiel cleared his throat.

“Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point.” He added on as an afterthought.

“What point?”   


“You.” Castiel turned to yell down the hallway. “Chuck! Dr. Winchester will take the room upstairs.”   


“Says who?” Dean sassed, although he did want to take the room.

“Says the man at the door.” Castiel said, right as someone knocked.

Dean went to answer it, to reveal Crowley from the restaurant, holding his cane. “Sherlock texted me.” The Scot said. “Said you’d forgotten this.” He handed Dean his cane.

“Oh…” Dean turned to Castiel, who smirked. He turned back to Crowley. “Er, thank you. Thank you.” He went back inside. 

Chuck came into the hallway, looking upset. “Castiel ,what have you done?”   


“Chuck?” Castiel questioned.   


“Upstairs.” Chuck gestured for them to go up, and they did, only to find Bobby and and a team of detectives ransacking the place.

“What are you doing?” Castiel demanded.

“Well I knew you'd find the case, I'm not stupid. “ Bobby remarked.

“You can't just break into my apartment!”   


“You cannot withhold evidence! And I didn't break into your apartment.”

“What do you call this then!”   


Bobby smirked. “It's a drugs bust.”

Dean broke out into derisive laughter. “Seriously? This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?”   


“Dean…” Castiel warned.

“I'm pretty sure you could search this apartment all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational.”   


“Dean, you probably want to shut up now.”   


“But come on!” Dean laughed, before shutting up as Castiel gave him a meaningful look. “No.”

“What?”   


“ _ You? _ ” Dean asked incredulously.    


“Shut up.” Then, to Bobby. “I'm not your sniffer dog!”   


“No, Garth is my sniffer dog.” Bobby snarked.

“What? I…” Castiel turned, to see Garth waving from the kitchen. “Garth, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?”

“Oh, I volunteered.” Garth sneered.

“They all did.” Bobby said. “They're not strictly speaking on the drug squad, but they are very keen.”   


“Are these human eyes?” Jo called from the kitchen.

“Put those back!”   


“They were in the microwave!” She protested.

“It's an experiment.” Castiel sneered at her.

“Keep looking guys!” Bobby called out. “Or, you could start helping us properly, and I'll stand them down.”   


“This is childish.” Castiel insisted.   


“Well, I'm dealing with a child.” Bobby snapped. “Sherlock this is our case, I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?”   


“What, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?” Castiel snapped back.

“It stops being pretend if they find anything.”   


“I am  _ clean _ .” Castiel insisted.

“Is your flat?” Garth asked form the kitchen.   


“All of it?” Bobby added.

“I don't even smoke.” Castiel rolled up his sleeve, showing off a nicotine patch.   


“Neither do I.” Bobby said, showing off a matching one. “So let's work together.” When Castiel didn't say anything, Bobby continued. “We found Rachel.”   


That caught Castiel's attention. “Who is she?”

“Jennifer Wilsons only daughter.”   


“Her daughter?” Castiel scrunched up his face. “Why would she write her daughters name, why?”   


“Nevermind that, we found the case!” Garth butt in, pointing to the pink suitcase. “According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath.”

“I’m not a psychopath, Garth, I’m a highly functioning sociopath, do your research.” Castiel snapped, before turning back to Bobby. “You need to bring Rachel in, we need to question her, I need to question her.”   


“She's dead.” Bobby said simply.

“Excellent, how when why? Is there a connection, there has to be.”   


“Well I doubt it, considering she's been dead for 14 years.” Bobby drawled. “Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilsons stillborn daughter 14 years ago.”   


“No, thats...thats not right, how…?” Castiel muttered. “Why would she do that, why?”   


“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?” Garth muttered. “Yeah, sociopath, I'm seeing it now.”   


“She didn't  _ think _ about her daughter. She scratched her name with her fingernails, she was dying.” Castiel said to himself. “It took effort, it would have hurt.” 

“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it.” Dean said. “Well maybe he, I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.”   


“Yes but that was ages ago, why would she still be upset?” All eyes went to Sherlock. He looked around. “Not good?”   


“A but not good, yeah.” Dean agreed.

Castiel stepped closer to Dean. “If you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in your very last seconds, what would you say?”   


“Please, god, let me live.” Dean said blandly.

“Use your imagination.”   


“I don't have to.” Dean said, looking Castiel square in the eyes.

Castiel didn't apologize. “Yeah but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson, running all those lovers, she was clever. She's trying to tell us something.”   


Chuck came up the stairs. “Is the doorbell working? Your taxis here, Castiel.”

“I didn't order a taxi, go away.”   


“Oh dear, they are making such a mess, what are they looking for?” Chuck asked Dean.

“It's a drugs bust, Chuck.”   


“But they're just for my hip! They're herbal soothers!”   


“SHUT UP EVERYBODY, SHUT UP!” Castiel yelled, stopping everyone in their tracks. “DON’T MOVE DON’T SPEAK DON’T BREATHE, I’M TRYING TO THINK!” A beat of silence.  “Garth, face the other way, you're putting me off.”

“What, my face is?”   


“Everyone quiet and still. Garth, turn your back.” Bobby ordered.

“Oh for gods sake…”   


“Your back now! Please!” Bobby yelled, and Garth complied.

“Come on, think, quick…” Castiel muttered.

“But what about your taxi?” Chuck insisted.

“CHUCK!” Castiel yelled, and Chuck scurried from the room. Castiel paused. “Oh...ah!” He smiled. “She was clever, clever yes! She's cleverer than you all, and she's dead! Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it, she planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer!”   


“But how?” Bobby asked.   


“What, what do you mean how?” Castiel asked, brow furrowed. “Rachel! Don't you see? RACHEL!” Everyone stared at him as though he had finally lost it. “Oh...look at you all, you're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name.”   


“Then what is it?” Dean demanded, clearly annoyed.

“Dean-on the luggage, there's a label, email address.”   


Dean leaned over to the suitcase, reading off the email.

“Oh, I’ve been too slow, she didn't have a laptop, which mean she did her business on her phone. So it's a smartphone, its email enabled. So theres a website for her account. The username is her email address, and all together now, the password is-”   


“Rachel.” Garth said slowly. “Sowe can read her emails now, so what?”

“Garth, don't talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street.” Castiel snapped. “We can do much more than read her emails. Its a smartphone, it's got GPS. Which means if you lose it, you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her.”

“Unless he got rid of it.” Bobby interjected.

“We now he didn't.” Dean explained.

“Come on, quickly, quickly…” Castiel murmured, as Chuck cried out form the stairs.

“Cas, dear, this taxi driver…”   


“Chuck, isn't time for your evening soother?” Castiel said scathingly, watching the screen. “Get vehicles, get a helicopter, we have to move fast, this phone battery won't last forever.” He stood, addressing Bobby as Dean watched the screen for him.

“We’ll just have a map reference, not a name!” Bobby protested.   


“It's a start!”   


“Castiel?” Dean called, he was ignored.

“Narrows it down from anyone in the city...it's the first proper lead we've had.”   


“Cas?”   


That got Castiel's attention. “Where is it, quickly, where?”   


“Here.” Dean said slowly. “It's in 221B Baker Street.”   


Castiel straightened up. “How can it be here...how?” He looked around, as if to see the answer in the air.

“Well maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere.” Bobby suggested.

“And I didnt notice it? Me? I didn't notice?” Castiel babbled.

“Anyway, we texted it and he called back.” Dean added.

Bobby yelled to the other detectives. “Guys, were also looking for a mobile here, belonging to a victim.”   


Castiel froze.

_ Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? _

He turned slowly to face the cab driver, who was waiting on the stairs.

_ Who passes unnoticed, wherever they go? _

And as Castiel watched, the cab driver pulled the phone out of her pocket and typed something.

Castiel's phone went off.

_ Come with me. _

“Cas? Are you ok?” Dean asked, brow furrowed.

“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…”   


“So how can the phone be here?” Dean continued.

“Don't know.” Castiel answered.

“I'll try it again.”   


“Good idea.” Castiel moved towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Bobby asked.

“Fresh air, just popping out for a second, won't be long.” Castiel said, slightly dazed.

Dean frowned. “You sure you're alright?”   


“I’m fine!” Castiel called, already on his way down the stairs.

~

Castiel made his way outside, coming face to face with a cab driver with red hair and a pretty face.

“Taxi for Castiel Novak.” She said.

“I didn't order a taxi.”   


“Doesn't mean you don't need one.” She said with a mysterious smile.

“You’re the cab driver.” Castiel said. “The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger.”   


“See? No one ever thinks about the driver.” She replied. “It's like you're invisible. Just the back of a head.” She smirked. “Proper advantage for a serial killer.”   


Castiel moved closer. “Is this a confession?”   


“Oh yeah.” She said casually. “I’ll tell you what else, if you call the police now, I won't run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.”

“Why?”   


“‘Cause you're not gonna do that.”   


“Am I not?” Castiel raised his eyebrow.

“I didn't kill those four people, Mr. Novak.” She said, still smiling. “I spoke to them, and they killed themselves. If you get the police now, I’ll promise you one thing.” She leaned closer. “I will never tell you what I said.”

Castiel did not respond for a moment, and she pushed off of the taxi she was leaning against, moving around to the other side.

“No one else will die though, and I believe that's what they call a result.” He called after her.

“And you won't ever understand how those people died!” She shot back, laughing. “What kind of result do you care about?” She got into the cab.

Castiel sighed, hesitating a moment before leaning and talking to the woman through the window. “And if I wanted to understand...what would I do?”   


“Let me take you for a ride.”   


“So you can kill me too?”   


“I don't want to kill you, Mr. Novak.” She said, all sweet and innocent. “I’m going to talk to you, and then you're going to kill yourself.”

Castiel got into the cab.

~

Dean frowned from where he was watching out of the window. “He got into a cab.” He turned to Bobby. “It's Castiel ,he just drove off in a cab.”

“I told you, he does that.” Jo snarked. “He damn well left again...we’re wasting our time!”

“I’m calling the phone, its ringing out.” Dean said, but no one could hear a phone ringing. 

It wasn't there.

~   


Castiel eyed the cab driver from where he sat behind of her. The phone was ringing.

~   


“I’ll try the search again…” Dean muttered, going back to the computer.

“Does it matter? Does any of it?” Jo asked in frustration. “He’s just a lunatic, and he’ll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time.”

Bobby sighed. “Okay everybody, done here.”   


~   


“How did you find me?” Castiel asked, still eyeing the driver.

“Oh, I recognized you.” She said. “As soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Castiel Novak...I was warned about you. I’ve been on your website too, brilliant stuff, loved it.” She praised, as though she weren't driving him to his death.

“Who warned you about me?” Castiel pried.

“Just someone out there who's noticed.”

“Who?” When she didn't answer, Castiel looked around the cab, spying a photo of a few young children. He also eyed the woman's reflection. “Who would notice me?”

“You're too modest, Mr. Novak.”   


“I'm really not.”   


“Got yourself a fan.” She mocked. 

“Tell me more.”   


“That's all you're gonna know.” She paused, before adding, “In this lifetime.”

~   


“Why did he do that, why did he have to leave?” Bobby asked, frustration seeping into his tone.

Dean shrugged. “You know him better than I do.”   


“I’ve known him for five years, and no, I don't.”

“So, why do you put up with him?” Dean asked curiously.

“Because I'm desperate, that's why.” Bobby snorted. “And because Castiel Novak is a great man. And I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.”

~   


The cab pulled up in between two buildings.

“Where are we?”   


“You know every street, you know exactly where we are.” She said in lieu of an answer.

“Roland-Kerr Further Education College.” Castiel murmured. “Why here?”   


“Its open. Cleaners are in.” She shrugged. “One thing about being a cab driver, you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out.”

Castiel squinted at her. “And you just walk your victims in? How?”

She pulled a gun.

“Oh. Dull.”   


“Don't worry, it gets better.” She replied.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint.”

“I don’t.” She said. “It's much better than that.” She put down the gun. “I don't need this with you, ‘cause you'll just follow me.” She walked into the building, and sure enough, Castiel followed.

~   


Dean looked to where the computer was tracking down the phone with a sigh.    


Just then, the computer beeped.

The phone was at…

His eyes widened.   


The phone was at Roland-Kerr Education College.

The murderer had the phone.

And Castiel…

Thats where Castiel must have gone.

Dean was out the door within the second.

~   


The cab driver led Castiel into an empty room. “Well, what do you think?” Castiel raised an eyebrow at her question. “It's up to you.” She explained. “You're the one whos gonna die here.”   


“No, Im not.” He said coolly.

“That's what they all say.” She smiled. “Shall we talk?” 

She took a seat, and Castiel took the one opposite her. “Bit risky, wasn't it?” Castiel asked. “Took em away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Chuck will remember you.”   


“Call that a risk? Nah...this is a risk.” She reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out a vial that contained a single pill.

Castiel stared, unimpressed. 

“Oh, I like this bit.” She continued. “‘Cause you don't get it yet, do you? But you're about to. I just have to do this” She reached back into her pocket and pulled out an identical vial with an identical pill. “Weren't expecting that, were you? Oh, you're going to love this…”

“Love what?”   


“Castiel Novak, look at you. Here in the flesh. That website of yours, your fan told me about it.”   


“My fan?” Castiel pressed. 

“You’re brilliant.” She continued, as though he hadn't spoken. “You are a proper genius. The Science of Deduction, now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting here, why cant people think?” She leaned over the table. “Doesn't it make you mad? Why can't people just  _ think _ ?”   


Castiel squinted, and scoffed. “Oh I see, you're a proper genius too?”   


“Don't look it, do I?” She smiled. “Funny little girl driving a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are, it'll be the last thing you ever know.”

“Okay, two bottles, explain.”   


“There's a good bottle and a bad bottle.” She explained. “You take the pill from the good bottle, you live. You take the pill from the bad bottle, you die.”   


“Both bottles are, of course, identical.” Castiel muttered.   


“In every way.”

“And you know which is which?”   


“Of course I know.”   


“But I don't.” Castiel drawled. 

“Wouldn't be a game if you knew, you're the one who chooses.”

“Why should I? I've got nothing to go on, whats in it for me?”

“I haven't told you the best bit yet.” She admonished. “Whichever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one. And then together...we take our medicine.”

Castiel smiled.   


She continued. “I wont cheat; its your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't.” A beat of silence. “Didn't expect that, did you Mr. Novak?”   


“This is what you did to the rest of them, you gave them a choice?”

“And now Im giving you one.” She said quickly. “You take your time, get yourself together. I want your best game.”

“It's not a game, its chance.” Castiel snarked. 

“I played four times, I'm alive.” She stared him down. “It's not chance, Mr. Novak, its chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this...this is the move.” She pushed one of the bottles towards him. Castiel stared at it. “Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one.”   


~   


“No, Detective Inspector Bobby Singer, I need to speak to him.” Dean said into his phone, frustration practically seeping from his pores. “It's important, it's an emergency-er, left here please. Left here!” He spoke rapidly to the cab driver before going back to his phone. 

~   


“You ready yet, Mr. Novak?” The woman asked sweetly. “Ready to play?”   


“Play what? It's a 50-50 chance.” Castiel snapped. 

“You're not playing the numbers, you're playing me!” She snapped back. “Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?”   


“It's still just chance.”   


“Four people? In a row? It's not chance.”   


“Luck.”   


“IT’S GENIUS!” She shouted, echoing through the empty room. She cooled down. “I know how people think. I know how people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my head. Everyone's so stupid, even you.” She laughed. “Or maybe God just loves me!”

Castiel leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. “Either way, you're wasted as a cab driver.”   


~   


Dean looked up at the twin buildings in front of him.

How was he supposed to know which one Castiel was in with the murderer?

He picked one and prayed.

~   


“So…” Castiel began. “You risked your life four times just to kill strangers, why?”

She hesitated. “Time to play.”   


“Oh, I am playing. This is my turn.” Castiel looked directly at her. “There's makeup behind your left ear, nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own, there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children, the children's father has been cut out of the picture. If he'd died, he'd still be there. The photographs old but the frame is new, you think of your children but you don't get to see them. Estranged mother. He took the kids, but you still love them, it still hurts.” He hissed. “Ah, but there's more. Your clothes. Recently laundered, but everything you're wearing is at least three years old, keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree, what's that about?” He smiled, staring more intensely for a moment. “Ah...three years ago, is that when they told you?”   


“Told me what?” She asked icily.

“That you're a dead woman walking.”   


“So are you!”   


“You don't have long though, am I right?” He looked at her expectantly.

She smiled, a cold little smile. “Aneurysm. Right in here.” She patted her head. “Any breath could be my last.”

“And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people?”   


“I've outlived four people.” She laughed. “That's the most fun you can have with an aneurysm.”

“No, no, there's something else.” He murmured. “You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter, bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow, this is about your children.”   


“Oh, you are good, aren't you?” She asked, acid in her tone. 

“But how?” Castiel mused.

She looked off, somewhat wistfully. “When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.”   


“Or serial killing.”   


“You'd be surprised.”   


“Surprise me.”   


She leaned forward again. “I have a sponsor.”   


“You have a what?”   


“For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see?” She settled back in her seat. “It's nicer than you think.”

“Who'd sponsor a serial killer?”   


“Who'd be a fan of Castiel Novak?” She shot back. “You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there, just like you, except you're just a man.” She  grinned. “And they're so much more than that.”   


Castiel's eye twitched. “What do you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?”   


“There's a name that no one says.” She said delicately. “And I'm not going to say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose.”

~   


“Castiel?” Dean called, running through the halls of the empty building. He tried a door. It was locked. “Castiel!”

~   


“What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here.”   


She sighed, and pulled the gun again. “You can take a 50-50 chance, or I can shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no one's ever gone for that option.”

Castiel smirked. “I'll have the gun, please.”   


“Are you sure?” She faltered.   


“Definitely.” He pressed. “The gun.”   


“You don't want to phone a friend?”   


“The gun.”

She sighed, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

“I know a real gun when I see one.” Castiel gloated. 

“None of the others did.” The woman sulked.

“Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case.” He stood, preparing to exit the room.   


“Just before you go, did you figure it out?” She turned in her seat to look at him. “Which ones the good bottle?”   


“Course. Child's play.”   


“Well, which one, then?” She pushed. “Which one would you have picked? Just so I know whether I could have beaten you. Come on.” She smiled devilishly. “Play the game.”

Castiel walked back over, picking up the bottle closest to the woman.

“Oh!” She said. “Interesting.”   


~   


Dean ran through the halls.

~   


Castiel emptied the bottle into his hand.

“So what do you think?” She asked. “Shall we?”

~

Dean jerked open a door, only to find the room empty, still.   


~   


“Really, what do you think?”

~   


Dean tried another door, and kept running.   


~   


“Can you beat me?”

~

Dean turned down another hallway, ignoring the stitch forming in his side.

~   


“Are you clever enough to bet your life?”   


~   


Dean opened the door, and froze.

He could see Castiel, alright.

In the building opposite.   


“ _ Castiel _ !”   


~

“I bet you get bored, don't you?” She asked, holding up her own pill. “I know you do. A man like you. So clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?”   
Castiel held his pill up to the light and eyed it carefully.

“Still the addict.” She hissed. “But this, this is what you're really addicted to. You'll do anything, anything at all to stop being bored. You're not bored now, are you? Isn't it good?”   


Right as Castiel was about to take the pill, a shot rang out, and the woman collapsed.

~   


Dean put his gun down, turned, and ran.   


~   


Castiel turned quickly to the window, where the shot had come from, only to find no one there. Turning back to the woman, he leaned beside her, asking, “Was I right? I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?” She didn't answer, instead just gasping pitifully for air. He threw the pill across the room. “Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor, who was it? The one who told you about me, my fan. I want a name.”

“No.” She gasped out.

“You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you.” He hissed. “Give me a name.” She shook her head and he stood, digging his shoe into her bullet wound. “A name! NOW!” He pressed harder. “THE NAME!”   


“Lucifer!” She cried out, and promptly went still, the last bit of life leaving her. 

He stood in silence, mouthing the name to himself.  _ Lucifer _ .

~   


A man draped a violently orange blanket over Castiel's shoulders as Bobby approached him. “Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.”   


“Its for shock.”   


“I'm not in shock.”   


“Yes, but some of the guys want to take photographs.” Bobby said gruffly. 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “So the shooter, no signs?”   


Bobby shook his head. “Cleared off before we got here. But a woman like that would have enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following her, but…we've got nothing to go on.”   


“Oh, I wouldn't say that.” Castiel smirked.

“Okay, give me.”   


“The bullet they just dug out of the walls from a handgun, a kill shot over that distance from that weapon, that's a crack shot we’re looking for. But not just a marksman, a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimated to violence. He did not fire until I was in immediate danger though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service, and nerves of steel…” Castiel looked around, catching Dean's eye, who smiled before hastily looking away. Castiel squinted. “Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.”   


“Sorry?”   


“Ignore all of that. It's just the er, the shock talking.” He walked off towards Dean.   


“Where are you going?” Bobby stopped him.   


“I just need to talk about the, the rent.”

“I’ve still got questions!”

“Oh, what now? I'm in shock, look, I've got a blanket!” Castiel shook the blanket at Bobby, who sighed.

“Castiel!”   


“ _ And _ I've just caught you a serial killer. More or less.”

Bobby sighed again. “Okay. We’ll pull you in tomorrow, off you go.”   


Castiel continued his walk towards Dean, ripping off the blanket and shoving it through a police car window.

“Sergeant Harvelle has been explaining everything.” Dean greeted. “The two pills. Dreadful business isn't it, dreadful.”

“Good shot.” Castiel deadpanned.   


“Yes, yes, must've been, through the window.” Dean agreed.

“Well, you'd know.” Castiel smiled at him. “You need to get the powder burns out of your fingers, I don't suppose you would serve time for this but let's avoid the court case.”   


Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.

Castiel squinted. “Are you alright?”   


“Yes, of course I'm alright.”   


“Well, you have just killed a woman.”   


“Yes.” Dean admitted. “That's true, isn't it? But, she wasn't a very nice woman.”   


“No.” Sherlock agreed. “No, she really wasn't, was she?”   


“Frankly a damn awful cab driver.”

Castiel chuckled, and Dean followed suit. “That's true, she was a bad cab driver. You should've seen the route she took us to get here.” Dean laughed harder. 

“Stop it, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene!” Dean admonished through his laughter. “Stop it.”   


“Well, you're the one who shot her.”

“Keep your voice down!"

“Sorry, its just uh, nerves, I think. Sorry.” Castiel said to a passing police officer, who ignored him.

Dean sobered. “You were gonna take that damn pill, weren't you?”   


“Course I wasn't.” Castiel said simply. “Biding my time, knew you'd turn up.”   


“No you didn't.” Dean snorted. “That's how you get your kicks, isn't it? Risking your life to prove you're clever.”   


“Why would I do that?”   


“Because you're an idiot.” Dean deadpanned.

Castiel grinned. “Dinner?”   


“Starving.”   


“End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese, stays open till 2:00. You can tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle-”

“Cas, that's him.” Dean suddenly hissed as the short blonde man got out of a fancy car. “That's the man I was talking to you about.”   


“I know exactly who that is.” Castiel growled. 

“So…” The short man smiled warmly. “Another case cracked. How very public-spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it?”   


“What are you doing here?”   


“As ever, I'm concerned about you.”   


“Yes, I've been hearing about your ‘concern’.” Castiel bitched. 

“Always so aggressive.” The short man sighed. “Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?”   


“Oddly enough, no.”   


“We have more in common than you'd like to believe.” The short man continued. “This petty feud between us is simply childish, people will suffer. And you know how it always upset Daddy.”

“I upset him?” Castiel said incredulously. “Me? It wasn't me that upset him, Gabriel.”   


“No, no, wait…” Dean cut in. “Daddy? Whos Daddy?”

“Father, our father.” Castiel informed him. “This is my brother, Gabriel.” Then, to Gabriel. “Putting on weight again?”   


“Losing it, in fact.” Gabriel sassed.

“He’s your  _ brother _ ?”   


“Of course he's my brother.” Castiel said impatiently.

“So he’s not…” Dean trailed off, brow furrowed.

“Not what?”   


“I don't know, criminal mastermind?”

“Close enough.” Castiel said, not breaking eye contact with Gabriel, who scowled.

“For goodness sake, I occupy a minor position in the government.”   


“He is the government.” Castiel deadpanned. “When he's not too busy being the Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.” Then, back to Gabriel. “Good evening, Gabriel. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic.” Castiel turned and strode off.

“So, when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?” Dean asked.

Gabriel looked at him like he was crazy. “Yes, of course.”   


“I mean, it actually is just a childish feud?”   


“He's always been so resentful.” Gabriel sighed. “You can imagine the Christmas dinners.”

“Yeah, no, God no. I better, erm…” Dean gestured to where Castiel was leaving the premises, before nodding to Anthea, who was next to Gabriel. “Hello again.”   


“Hello.” She said, not looking up from her phone.

Dean sighed. “We met earlier on this evening?”   


“Oh.”   


“Okay, goodnight.” And with that, Dean followed Castiel away from the short man and his assistant.

“Goodnight, Dr. Winchester.” Gabriel watched him go. 

“So, dim sum?” Castiel said once Dean ahd caught up. Dean hummed in affirmation. “I can always predict the fortune cookies.”   


“No you can't.”   


“Almost can.” They continued walking. “You did get shot, though.”   


“Sorry?”   


“In Afghanistan, there was an actual wound.”   


“Oh! Yeah, shoulder.” Dean confirmed.

“Shoulder, I thought so.”   


“No you didn't.”   


“The left one?”   


“Lucky guess.”   


“I never guess.” Castiel said happily.

“Yes you do.” Dean looked at Castiel. “What are you so happy about?”   


“Lucifer.”   


“What's Lucifer?”   


“I've absolutely no idea.” Castiel said, happiness still clear in his tone.

~

“Sir, shall we go?” Anthea said.

Gabriel, who was still watching Dean and Castiel, ignored her. “Interesting, that soldier fellow. He could be the making of my brother, or make him worse than ever.” He grimaced. “Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade three, active.”   


“Sorry sir, whos status?”   


“Castiel Novak, and Dr. Winchester.”   


~   


Dean grinned up at Castiel.

Perhaps he was beginning to like the eccentric man after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This took me so long to write jesus fucking christ I regret everything  
> Plus I feel so bad about making Garth be Anderson but I couldnt think of anyone else so oh well


End file.
